


Idle Hands

by Nitrobot



Series: Commissions [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: Windblade has innocent intentions at first, but Starscream just looks so lonely without her. How could she possibly not take advantage of him?





	Idle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for Valong/jl1960.

Windblade took the stairs up to Starscream’s office slowly, neither hesitant nor eager to see him. She'd long since gone past the phases of fearing or avoiding him; now, she just tolerated him when she had to. Still, her wings quivered just before she entered. 

“Are you busy, Starscream?”

He didn't look up from his datapad-strewn desk, nor from the one in his claws. “I’m always busy. What do you want?”

“It’s about Metroplex.” She stopped just before the desk, hands folded in front of her. “Seems Scraplets have managed to get into his lower cranium.” Her digits picked at the paint chips the tiny slaggers managed to gnaw off her hands before she sealed them away. “I’d like to have a team sent down to exterminate them, if one is available.”

Starscream glanced at her, optics like dull coals that flashed from femme to datapad, before he sighed and threw the latter away from him like it was infectious. “Yes, yes, do what you must. Just be quick about it.” He pressed a hand to his forehead and dismissed her with a wave of the other. And that would have been the end of it, usually. 

But nowadays, Windblade was often too observant for her own good. Just as she was turning to leave, wings still flicking back towards the sullen Seeker, her optic caught hold of something. Hidden just behind Starscream’s elbow was a glass half-full with a liquid too bright to be pure energon, alongside two other empty glasses at the edge of his desk. And from how they still glistened, they hadn't been empty for very long.

“Well? Was that all?” Starscream stared at her, irritation painted like a mask over his face as it usually was. His digits twitched at his elbow, as if waiting for her to leave so he could snatch the glass up. 

“I just… noticed you’re drinking high-grade. A lot more of it than usual.” Windblade gestured to his guilty servo before he could try and hide his drink, and with a sour scowl he pulled it out from its poor hiding place.

“And what business is that of yours?” he asked, claws wrapped around the glass like a shield. For all she knew it might have been a constant habit of his, one she only just noticed. 

“It's... a bit early in the cycle, isn't it?” Windblade pressed. Starscream only scoffed at her concern.

“For bots who can afford to run on empty tanks, maybe.” A servo propped his helm up, as if he was bored, though not enough that he tried distracting himself with another datapad. Instead he seemed content to just watch her, waiting to be finally left alone. 

Windblade eyed the other two glasses again, suddenly unsure if she _could_ leave him. "You don't think you've had a bit much?”

“No, I don't.” Just to prove his point, or to take the edge off his jagged sigh, Starscream tipped the glass back and gulped down a quart of high grade. “I quite like not caring when I should,” he said as he wiped his mouth. “Running a planet full of bots that hate you can do that to a mech.”

Whether it was the drink or a sudden lurch of regret that made him sound so pensive, Windblade felt the urge to challenge him. “I don’t hate you, Starscream.”

Another scoff, this one dampened and static-clipped as he stared from under heavy lids. “You must be so proud of yourself,” he drawled, wings dropping low to match his tone, as if challenging her own to not falter under his hazy glare.

Windblade kept her cables stiff as she threw back at him. “And you’re not?”

Starscream smiled, like a hunter watching something approaching his snare. “Never said I wasn't, my dear.” And then it was gone, as if it was never even there. His mouth was just a harsh line scored into the stony valley of his face. “Now if you're done _preaching_ , I have work to get back to.”

He started to sift through his ocean of stress and paperwork, but Windblade caught his attention with a hand hitting one of the only free spaces on the desk.

“After three glasses today? For all I know, you'll pass out as soon as I leave and Metroplex will be chewed to pieces when you wake up.” She only moved her hand when Starscream looked ready to shove it aside, now crossing both servos over her chest. “I'm not leaving until I know the problem will be handled.”

“Windblade, your pet city is the least of my worries just now. Why don't you just get that bodyguard of yours to deal with it?” Starscream peered behind her as he groaned, like he expected Chromia to jump out of the shadows.

“Because she’ll let Ironhide join in, and… well, Metroplex has very delicate systems. Those two get way too trigger happy when they're together…” Windblade shivered slightly as she remembered when she almost shot out of the air by both of them during a training exercise. “So I want _professionals_ who won't end up making it all worse.”

Starscream seemed to summon all the energy in his spark just to sigh at her. “I will send a cleanup crew as soon as one is available. Happy now?”

Windblade knew he would, despite how reluctant he sounded, but she couldn't make herself nod. “I'd be happier if you weren't slurring your words.”

The glass was halfway to his face when he heard her, and he pulled it away from the smirk spilling over his lips. “If you're so insistent that I stop… why don't you finish this glass for me?”

He held it out to her, shaking the dregs still left in it. Windblade could smell the sharp chemicals even as she pushed it away. 

“Thank you, but I don't drink,” she told him. 

“Is that so?” Starscream’s smirk only spilled wider, like an oily river winding towards her. “Are all Camiens lightweights, then?”

With one blink, Windblade’s wings shot up like swords nestled at her back. “I am _not_ -” She stopped herself when she saw Starscream’s optics glittering like shards of glass were scattered over the coals. Like he was baiting her into tripping over them.

“Give it here.” Windblade grabbed the drink from his hand and downed it before he could snatch it back.When she felt the fire scorching the back of her throat, it was already trickling into her fuel tanks. Coughing it up only made her glossa burn, and Starscream was all too happy to watch her wheeze and shiver as she tried to beat the musky liquid down into her chest.

“Too strong for you?” he asked, barely hiding his grin behind the hand holding his helm up.

Still choking down the high grade, Windblade tried to stifle her coughs with a hand wiping away the drops of fire on her lips. “If this is what you've been downing for the past vorns… it would explain why you've been closing yourself off like a hermit. Can't have Cybertron’s illustrious leader tripping over his own peds.”

She thought she saw Starscream frowning, but his mouth was just a fuzzy outline around a distant voice. “Then try not to stumble on your way out, you’d make both of us look bad.” 

Windblade shook her helm, driving away the dizziness, but when she saw clearly again she only found Starscream settled back into the safety of his work, scanning over one of his hundreds of daily reports. And she would have been happy to leave him to it, to his drinking and dulled wits, if not for how determined he was to ignore her. The sharp lines carved into his expression, running deep with bitterness, seemed to stand out more in the shadow of his face. She wondered how long they'd been there for without her even noticing. 

And even if he'd managed to wipe his face clean, other signs were still draped over his whole frame. Listening to a Metrotitan’s thoughts all day gave her an idea of how smaller bots might think and feel differently from how they act, and unlike Metrotitans they couldn't shield themselves so easily. When Starscream spoke, there was a hidden edge in his voice; frustration and impatience clashing together like Insecticons fighting over a queen. Everything from how he sat, how he tensed his wings and kept his digits frozen at their joints, betrayed him to anyone looking close enough. This was more than just stress, or the side effects of high-grade. He looked almost like a Camien mech, one kept away from his colony for too long.

Perhaps the two communities weren’t as separate as they both thought. After all, the chief difference between them was that Cybertron had lost all its native femmes.

In which case… how long had Starscream gone with never seeing one? Did he even remember what a femme was, before Caminus send them to him? 

From his iron-grip on everything in his reach, Windblade had to guess ‘no’. And with that lightning bolt of realisation also came an idea, one that she hardly would have even considered without high grade floating in her processor.

 _‘Alright, Mr ‘Chosen One’, I think I know what your problem is…’_ Suppressing a smile, Windblade folded her servos behind her back as she stepped ever so slightly closer to the Seeker.

“You know, cooping yourself up in this office all day with high grade isn’t going to help you feel any better,” she said, leaning in to force Starscream’s attention back onto her. His wings shook in agitation as he swivelled hard optics up to meet hers.

“Yes, I _do_ know. And having others point it out like they know me better than I know myself doesn’t help either!” With a growl rising in his voice, Starscream forced his glare back on his datapad even as Windblade rounded the barrier of his desk.

“It's just that you're the one expected to deal with all the newcomers around here,” she went on. “It’s like you’re so used to ignoring your own kind, you can’t help but do the same to others. Some bots might think you have an _aversion_ to being around them.” 

Windblade now stood next to Starscream, as close as she could be without making him lean away. As it was, he only gave her a sideways glance as he huffed out a mutter. “Then they can go frag themselves for all I care.”

“Because none of them will frag _you_?

She intended to poke his chest, but he flinched too quickly. From the look he gave her, she might as well have tried to slap him. His glare reeked with suspicion, and his vocaliser clogged with stutters.

“I... don’t know what you are trying to imply, Windblade, but I am _not_ in the mood for any games!” Starscream jabbed a digit towards her, not quite hitting her frame as he prodded her away. Windblade moved back in front of him just to calm him down, wings hanging low and limp in contrast to his stone-rigid struts. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t be, if you’ve barely had any time to yourself,” she said with a shrug. “Never mind time with _other_ bots… or femmes.”

Holding his wings ever higher, Starscream pulled himself from his seat to stand over her. “I don’t _need_ other bots, I can perfectly take care of myself!” His denta stabbed into his lips, gritted tightly together as he glared at her; but only for a nanoklick as he realised what he'd just said. “I-I mean… not that I need to. In that sense.” He stopped gripping the desk to brush his chestplate down before coolant could bead on the metal, an attempt to regain composure before her. 

Windblade simply stared at him the whole while, savoring her minor victory as his unease mounted to a frantic accusation. “Why are you still here?!”

“Because maybe I’d like to help you, Starscream.” She let herself lean on his desk, pushing datapads aside to make room for her elbows. “Maybe I’d like to see what you’re really like… when you’re not turning every sentence into a screech because you’re so desperate for the attention.”

At any other time, Starscream would have denied every word she said. But now he was silent, studying her lazy smile and hooded optics. He crooked an eyeridge, confused and cautious. “What are you saying?”

Windblade let her smile twitch wider as she leaned in closer and raised a hand in front of him. Each digit spread out and waved at him before curling softly into a fist. 

“Let _me_ take care of you,” she answered quietly, lowering her servo so that her index slipped down his frame, coming to rest just above the warmth of his codpiece. He didn't swat it away as he stared at her gesture, only moving his wide optics when she folded her hand back into her elbow.

“...How much high grade was actually in that glass?” Starscream asked, grabbing the one nearest to him and staring down it while she stifled a laugh.

“I'm not hearing a ‘no’,” she said.

Starscream set the glass back down, now staring at her like a hunter suddenly beset by a wild animal. How quickly the tables had turned. She didn't do anything but look back at him, and his optics narrowed. 

“What are you up to? Is there someone recording this? Trying to catch me slacking off?” He darted his helm all around the office, searching for any hint of a camera or microphone, probing claws all over his desk for anything that shouldn't have been there. 

Though she kept her face still, Windblade’s wings fluttered at his paranoia. “Nothing like that, Starscream.” She approached him from the other side of the desk this time, patiently waiting for him to give up. Only once he emerged from under the desk, not a bug to be found, did he turn back to her.

“Then you're trying to make a fool out of me!” he decided, brandishing a claw towards her as he closed in, making her go backwards with every step he put forwards. “Well, _Windblade_ , as I told you before, I am not. In. The _mood_.” 

He practically hissed as he advanced on her, but she only had to move his claw aside to eliminate the space between them. “That could easily be fixed,” she reminded him, wrapping her digits around his talon. With one hand trapped so easily, Starscream’s face cycled through a mix of outrage and confusion, his vocaliser swelling with splutters that refused to form words. Windblade let his hand go only when his expression wiped itself blank, every feature lay flat as he tried to plan his next move. She could see it in his optics, still cloudy with high grade and a thousand bad ideas, and bright with the need to trip her up just as she did to him.

Like ice melting down a cliff, Starscream brought his face in tightly. Eyeridges furrowed above narrow optics, and his mouth left so slightly open. Even so close together, his lips moved so softly that she couldn't see him speaking. 

“...And what if I said yes?”

Something turned his vocaliser into a chasm, the quietness of his question only amplifying how deeply it reached into her spark. Windblade almost didn't realise it had come from Starscream, not until she felt its echoes still reverberating in her frame. She had to move away, only to find her back pressing against the wall. 

“I'm… I’m sorry?” Even if she could ask louder than a whisper, she doubted it would have made much difference. Starscream barely even smirked at her trembling voice, forcing her to cower as he loomed over her. The wide stretch of his wings blocked any possible exit, and the only light between them seemed to be the red of his hooded optics.

“What if I took you up on your offer?” he clarified, placing a claw under her chin when she tried to tuck her helm down. “You may be right, after all. With so much of my time spent keeping this wretched planet turning, I have been… neglecting myself. What could _you_ do to fix that?”

With a talon forcing her to face him and her wings pinned against the wall, Windblade was left speechless. Her armour was like paper with him so close, protoform sweating as her spark swelled almost unbearably. She could feel Starscream’s vents against her frame, hot air against her face that managed to match the heat flooding her cheeks. Her paint could have easily chipped off just from the strength of his stare, as he waited for her answer. 

But she never would have managed to find one in time, not before Starscream let his act fall and shatter on the ground with a grin full of razors.

“Just as I thought.” He pulled away from her, no longer suffocating with his shadow. Her vents poured out air as her frame deflated, and he stood back as if to admire how pathetic she looked. “All that fire in your optics, those little barbs on your glossa, they're as useful as…” He pretended to think, then shrugged. “Well, as a Camien.”

Left alone in the corner of the office, Starscream turned back towards his desk- but didn't get any further than that. With a lunge forwards, Windblade wrenched on his servo to pull him back.

“And yet without us, you'd all be rusting under Metroplex’s ped by now,” she reminded him, closing thin digits around his wrist while she had his optics. She didn't need to add that it wasn't just her kind, but the Cityspeaker herself that kept them all safe. Yet Starscream still felt like he had to fight back.

“Without _me_ , you'd all be lost to the stars, rejected by your entire species,” he told her in a low hiss. “I suppose they both balance each other out.”

“You say that like Decepticons aren't hard to-”

“I am NOT a Decepticon!” The Seeker’s fury was a flashbang from his spark, a snarl that flattened Windblade against the wall as it ripped its way out of his throat. Starscream seemed just as shocked as her, wide-eyed as he gathered his vents, clenching his denta hard to stop anything else coming out. He had to use the wall for support, caging her with his shaking servos. He gulped, a controlled sigh passing over her frame as he turned his dead optics on her.

“I… am a leader,” he said. “For as long as you live on Cybertron, I am _your_ leader. I will respect you, if you respect me. Is that so difficult for you to grasp?”

Windblade wasn't sure if he was expecting an answer, but the tired lines on his face seemed to beg for one. Like him, she measured her breath before speaking and only then felt how tight her armour was over her coolant-soaked protoform.

“Not difficult at all.” She spoke softly; not because she feared his anger, but because she wasn't sure if her vocaliser could handle being any louder. “But I'd respect you more if you admitted when you needed help.” 

Windblade lifted a servo between them both, a hand reaching towards Starscream’s face. Though he moved away from her digits at first, he slowly let each one close around his cheek, then his chin. He burned just as she did, and she could feel his centuries etched into his metal. His optics shuttered, a cold breath blowing his confession across her hand.

“...I do.” He sagged as his optics opened again, fingers sliding down the wall that they tried to grip. “I do need help.”

With her hand still on his face, she tilted his helm as her digits fell from his chin. “So why don't you shut up, and let someone give it to you for once?” she whispered.

Still bent under the weight of his reluctant, Starscream tried to muster a glare as one of his arms dropped from beside her. “And why should that someone be you?” he asked back.

Windblade kept her servos low, stroking down his chest in pursuit of his hand. “Because, as attractive as you are when you're angry… I think we'd both benefit if you calmed down.” She offered him a smile as innocent as she could manage when they were so close together. Still locked onto his optics, she couldn't see where her hand was going, but she was sure she'd soon brush against his digits. She felt cold metal claws, but they quickly moved out of her reach, and instead what hit her palm was warm and stiff… throbbing with energon and bottled-up frustration. Her optics widened as they looked down, her digits tentatively closing around what she now knew was his released spike.

“...Well?” Starscream refused to look at her, angling his face to hide all but the glow of his optics and the dark stain of a blush. “I believe you offered… to take care of it.”

Despite her own blush burning away, her uncertain fingers around his cord and her sheer disbelief that her gambit actually worked, Windblade had to hide a giggle at his expense. “That I did.”

“Then get on with it.” He tried so hard to make it sound like a casual order, one he could simply distance himself from, but he couldn't help leaning in closer.

“Hm?” Torn between the Seeker and his spike, Windblade was only half listening to what came out of his moaning vocaliser. 

“...Please,” he added, in that voice that anchored onto her audios so easily, desperation and desire fighting against his need to stay in control. And how could she resist when he asked so nicely?

Her grip on his spike tightened, as she slowly squeezed down the shaft. And he trembled as she circled the base, pulling back and forth to coax his hips against her frame.

“You’ve… never done this before, have you?” he asked under a growl, hissing along her audios. Windblade stopped halfway along his spike, taking her fingers away with a frown.

“Have _you_?” she shot back with a crooked eyeridge.

“Cybertron may have lost its femmes… but there's plenty of _other_ planets with willing ladies,” he told through a thinly-veiled smirk.

"Are you complaining about my skills, then?” Starscream might have been the first pure Cybertronian she'd touched, but she wasn't _completely_ inexperienced with mechs. How else would she know to withhold her hand until he covered up his insult?

Starscream growled again, laying his forehelm against hers as his wings fluttered impatiently. “Just… keep going up.”

Windblade stared up at him, waiting to see that pleading glimmer in the slits of his optics, only moving her hand back when he dragged a groan from the pit of his vocaliser. She reached the tip, digits gliding over the bulb and gathering rivulets of leaking transfluid.

And with just a pinch, the Seeker seemed to melt against her. His spinal strut collapsed, hips jolting forwards as his frame crashed into hers. Still in her hand, his spike pressed against her thigh as if it could sense her own arousal, and her whimper was eclipsed by the moan that shuddered out his throat. 

“Mmph… harder…” Hot air hit her lips as he gasped, his chest heaving against hers. And she obeyed, resisting the urge to pull his spike between her legs before her valve started leaking behind her panel. The high grade had left her systems completely now, pure energon roaring in her helm and coolant coursing down her body, especially down her thighs. The most powerful mech on Cybertron, the one who tried so hard to scare her, now left to beg for her touch. She'd be smiling even if he wasn't so appealing to watch.

Starscream kept himself standing, but that seemed to be all he was able to control. His wings spasmed, vocaliser hoarse with moans. “Faster…”

With how much fluid was covering his shaft, Windblade’s hand easily slipped up and down with enough friction to push his climax up from the pit of his spark. Though he'd built up loud moans, his mouth was stretched in a silent cry as transfluid finally spurted out over her digits.

But she hardly noticed that, not when Starscream’s moan erupted against her lips. His glossa reached out, slipping so easily into her mouth while it was still left frozen open from shock. As his moan stretched out, his lips loosened to fit snugly against hers, but his glossa more aggressively tangled itself into her own. There was no resistance as he cradled her face with a tired hand, digging his sharp denta into her soft lips, because all she could think about was how good it felt.

But just as she started to kiss him back, he pulled away, blinking, slowly coming back down. He looked at her, still not entirely present. As she'd hoped, not a single sign of stress marked Starscream’s face. But that was because his face didn't show anything.

She loosened her grip on his spike, letting it go and finding her her palm covered in sticky ropes of transfluid- as well as, she then noticed, her abdomen. 

Even as a sense of shame flooded her nodes, Starscream didn't smile, or quip, or growl at her. He just held her face, while it was still near his own, as if he didn't want her to leave. Whether or not she felt the same way, Windblade couldn't tell at that moment. Still flooded with uncertain embarrassment, all she could think about was leaving before anyone saw her covered in transfluid and coolant.

“...I’ll let you get back to work, then,” she said quietly, quickly, trying to duck away just as something started to flash in Starscream’s optics as his helm bowed. He might have intended another kiss, but she slipped under his limp servos before she could find out what it was; rushing to the washroom she knew he kept next to the office.

Though she resisted looking back at him, she could hear another sigh shaking out from the corner of the room as trembling legs carried her away, and her glossa licked at the marks his denta left on her lips.


End file.
